


Dinner and Dessert

by Celandine, cruisedirector



Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Airplanes, Bedroom Sex, Bi-Curiosity, Blow Jobs, Breasts, Cigarettes, Cleaning, Community: kings_speeches, Compare and Contrast, Cooking, Dessert & Sweets, Dinner, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Food, Foursome, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Friends to Lovers, Heterosexual Sex, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Love, Marriage, Married Couple, Masturbation, Multi, Names, Nudity, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Polyamory, Royalty, Smoking, Speech Disorders, Speeches, Stripping, Voyeurism, Watching, Wine, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrtle insists to Lionel that they must show the King and Queen proper hospitality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and Dessert

"More wine?"

Myrtle watched the Queen's nod, aware that the King was watching as well. She had known that Their Majesties must have accepted the invitation to dinner to be polite, rather than because they had any desire for, let alone belief in the propriety of, this sort of socializing. But after two holidays at the Palace and Christmas at Balmoral, Myrtle had insisted to Lionel that they must extend the offer, even if Their Majesties weren't likely to accept. She had been more surprised than Lionel when the King told him they'd be delighted.

Perhaps the King truly was delighted -- he'd been smiling all evening, watching Lionel as he ate -- but Myrtle doubted whether the same could be true for the Queen, despite the fact that she ate Myrtle's cooking with apparent pleasure. Lionel filled the awkward pauses in conversation with stories about Australia, and the King kept the glasses filled. Yet though the Queen wore an expression of animated amusement, even her husband appeared uncertain whether it was a performance, darting curious glances in her direction from time to time.

Lionel took another helping of sprouts and offered the dish to the Queen, who shook her head, and to the King, who accepted. Myrtle had worried about serving such an ordinary meal to royalty. Not ordinary in the Logues' household -- normally they only ate roast beef for their Sunday dinners, and now with the war on, not always then -- but in the palace, Myrtle was sure, French dishes were daily fare.

"Those potatoes were delicious," the Queen complimented Myrtle. "What did you do to make them so crisp around the edges?"

"They're cooked in the dripping from the roast," Myrtle said. It seemed unnecessary to explain that first they had to be parboiled. The Queen wouldn't care about such details. Probably she had never been in a kitchen in her life, not to cook anyhow.

"Do you cook, Lionel?" asked the King.

Myrtle smiled as her husband hid his face behind a napkin. Undoubtedly he knew what was coming. "Sometimes he manages not to burn the eggs," she said.

"That's not fair. That only happened once or twice."

To her surprise, the Queen laughed -- a full, throaty laugh, not a polite aristocratic chuckle. "How surprising. Bertie thinks you can do anything."

"Not true," the King objected, though not very strenuously, as Myrtle and Lionel both glanced up in surprise. "He's made me tea. There's never enough sugar."

"Because too much sugar can coat the throat." Lionel had to speak over the women, who were both laughing now.

"But you see, you've proven my point," said the Queen. "Bertie believes that you know everything, and all your decisions are made for some clever reason. I hear about it all the time -- Lionel this, Lionel that." She tilted her glass a bit in his direction before sipping her wine.

" _That's_ not true," protested the King, but his face was red and Myrtle knew that the Queen's description was accurate. "I don't think Lionel knows how to, er, fly an airplane."

The Queen flicked the fingers of the hand not holding her wineglass and took another sip before saying, "My dear, we all know that you are the only one here who is a certified pilot."

"You are? Oh, I've always wished I could fly," Myrtle said before she thought better of it. She bit her lip in vexation. How dreadful to sound as if she wished the King to arrange for her to have a ride in an airplane, or worse still, to sound as if she hoped he himself would take her.

"It's a curious sensation," the King said, with a smile. "Elizabeth agrees with me on that; we both prefer other means of transportation. Have _you_ ever flown, Lionel?"

"Once. A soldier I'd treated introduced me to a friend from the Central Flying School. I couldn't decide whether it was the most exhilarating or the most terrifying experience of my life." Myrtle suspected the former, but Lionel had stopped boasting about it when he'd realized she envied the experience.

"Bertie won't be getting in any airplanes any time soon. Too dangerous. It's been agreed." The Queen gave him the sort of look that Myrtle gave her sons when they mentioned wanting to do something they'd been told not to do.

The King looked mutinous for a moment, but surely he'd heard the same rumors of German spies and assassins that made Lionel fret. Even now there were people outside their home, guarding the cars and likely the door.

Relaxing a bit, Myrtle rose to check the oven, unsure whether protocol dictated that she should curtsy upon leaving the room -- she knew that she must not turn her back on royalty, so she walked backward. They finally had saved enough to hire a cook, but when Their Majesties had agreed to come for dinner, Myrtle had wanted to cook for them herself.

"Is there anything else Lionel can't do?" she heard the Queen ask, laughing softly.

"He's a terrible driver," Myrtle volunteered through the doorway. "He was delighted when our oldest son learned to drive. Not nearly as easy to distract."

She returned with the hot dried-apple crumble, first, setting it in front of her husband for him to serve, then made another trip to bring the cheese and a pitcher of cream. Lionel liked a slice of sharp cheese with his, but Myrtle thought cream was nicer. She had decided to offer both tonight.

"That smells wonderful," said the King with a smile.

Myrtle smiled back, still a little shy. "Thank you."

"It's true," Lionel said.

"What, that this will be wonderful?" The King's smile at Lionel seemed to be a reminder of some private joke between them.

"No, that I can easily be distracted." Lionel paused. "Would you like cheese or cream, Bertie? It's a very nice double Gloucester."

"Both sound tempting, I must admit." The King tilted his head slightly and looked at his wife. "What do you want, dear?"

"I really shouldn't eat another bite," the Queen said, fluttering a hand toward her belly. She smiled at Myrtle. "Which do you suggest?"

"Cream," Myrtle said promptly, glancing at Lionel when he opened his mouth as if he might contradict her. "My husband isn't usually allowed to eat dessert unless he's been playing tennis or running around with the boys."

"I'm in fine shape for a man my age," objected Lionel, though he was smiling as he placed a rather large serving on the plate he passed to the Queen.

"Indeed you are." Myrtle and the King spoke simultaneously, then glanced at one another, chagrined, as Lionel chuckled. Myrtle knew that whatever formal protocol might have existed at one time between himself and his royal patient had long since diminished in private, but she was nearly a stranger to Their Majesties and not certain the Queen approved of any of this.

Yet the Queen looked even more amused than Lionel. "Perhaps Doctor Logue has been practicing the same exercises he's told you to do, darling," she said to her husband.

"Lionel," came the inevitable correction.

"I'm sure Doctor Logue gets quite a bit of exercise romping around his consultation room with his other patients, unless I'm the only one who gets rolled about on the carpet." The King scooped up a large bite of apple crumble, not waiting for Lionel to finish serving himself before devouring it. Myrtle had to hide a smile; if he had been one of her sons, she'd have scolded him, but it was a pleasure to see His Majesty so eager for her cooking. "Mmm. This is delicious."

"Thank you," she said. "Judging by the state of the room afterward, I don't think you're the only one who has to move around."

"But not everyone does the same exercises," Lionel said, glancing at first the King and then the Queen.

"You mean not every man has his wife sitting on him as he breathes?" asked the Queen in an innocent voice. "Bertie quite enjoys that, I think; certainly I do."

Lionel choked on a bite of cheese and had to take a sip of water. "Most patients don't bring a spouse with them. You're unique in a number of ways."

"Yes, I should think so," the King said. He took another bite and gave a happy sigh. "I just might have to ask you to share your recipe with our cook, Mrs. Logue. Excuse me. Myrtle."

"Perhaps she wants to keep it a secret, to ensure that we come back again," the Queen pointed out.

"Oh, no," said Myrtle hastily. "I should be honored to give it to you. I found the recipe in _Woman's Weekly_ ; it was one of their suggestions for sweets that could be made under rationing."

"Well, then, we certainly should have it. Must set the example, you know," said the King in a serious voice. "The country needs to see that everyone is making sacrifices -- although eating _this_ is scarcely a sacrifice."

"Sacrifices such as poison sticks, excuse me, cigarettes?" Lionel asked pointedly.

"You know I've cut back." Myrtle glanced back and forth from the King to her husband, unable to help staring. She didn't know which she found more astonishing: that Lionel would say such a thing to the King over dessert, or that the King looked like a chastened schoolboy. "I'm down to fifteen a day."

"If you smoked fifteen less a day than that, you'd deserve a reward." Lionel and the Queen exchanged a glance, and Myrtle guessed that Lionel had recruited her in his efforts to break the King of the habit. Lionel had very rarely shouted at their children, but when he'd caught Laurie with a cigarette, there had been quite a scene.

At least the King did not appear to be offended. "What sort of reward?" he asked speculatively, then raised his plate. "More of this, perhaps?"

Grinning, Lionel gave him another serving. "I'm told that people often gain a stone when they give up cigarettes," he said.

"That won't help my flabby tummy." Both men laughed.

Myrtle glanced at the Queen, who had a curious expression, as if she, like Myrtle, were missing a private joke. "I suppose more exercises might take care of that," she volunteered.

"More exercises and something to do with your mouth when you crave a cigarette. Ever tried chewing gum?"

Wrinkling his nose, the King shook his head. "There must be something better than that."

"Lemon drops, then. Something you can suck on would be best."

"Something sweeter than lemon drops, then." The King sucked his fork clean. His eyes twinkled, first at Elizabeth, then at Lionel.

"Mm. Must it be sweet?" Lionel raised his eyebrows.

"What did you have in mind?" countered the King. "Cucumber pickles?"

Lionel snorted with laughter. "Close, but no cigar. No cigars, either -- they're no better than cigarettes for your lungs, and smell worse."

"That's true. Mr. Churchill is a case in point," murmured the Queen. In a louder voice, she continued, "Clearly you have _something_ in mind that Bertie can suck on, or otherwise occupy his mouth with, instead of smoking. Do share it with us."

"Myrtle's already shared it, as has Bertie." Lionel was still laughing, although he had turned red as well, and Myrtle was sure he was avoiding the Queen's eye.

"You don't mean --" Myrtle grasped Lionel's allusion at the same time that the King did; they looked at each other, shock melting into speculation.

The Queen cleared her throat. Somehow it didn't surprise Myrtle in the least that she caught on just as quickly as her husband, despite the propriety she cultivated. "It is really as impressive as all that?" she asked, toying with her teacup.

"Not at all," Lionel said, shaking his head a bit, at the same moment Myrtle and the King spoke together:

"Yes."

The Queen looked from Lionel to the King to Myrtle. "Clearly, you are a lucky woman, Mrs. Logue, to have a husband who is modest as well as... gifted."

"And who may have had too much to drink." Myrtle could feel her own face burning. She put her hands on her cheeks. "Perhaps we've all had too much to drink."

"Perhaps, but it's a bit late for modesty." The King looked positively merry. "It may be ordinary in Australia, Lionel, but Englishmen are rarely so gifted."

Myrtle wondered how the King could know that. Perhaps he was simply being flattering? She didn't know from personal experience herself, but a certain amount of gossip with other wives had convinced her that Lionel was indeed better-endowed than the average Englishman.

The Queen raised her eyebrows at her husband, who pretended to cower at her gaze.

"Remember, I attended the Royal Naval College, and served aboard several ships," he said. "I had ample opportunity to make comparisons. It's a natural piece of curiosity among young men, I think. We all want to know that we are like others... especially when we are not."

His expression was not exactly sad, nor yet stoic. Myrtle saw in it the determination that had so attracted Lionel.

"You have never been like others," said the Queen, "and I have never found you lacking. Quite the contrary." She sounded thoughtful, however.

"Perhaps a comparison is in order?" the King suggested.

Could the King possibly mean...? Myrtle had not taken her hands from her face, which she knew, if possible, was even more scarlet. She bit her lip to hold back a whimper.

"Have we shocked you? You've suddenly become very quiet, Doctor Logue," the Queen observed.

"Lionel," he said automatically, then grinned. "Under the circumstances, I really think it _must_ be Lionel." When he looked over at the King, the grin turned wicked. "Bertie, you weren't seriously suggesting -- not with our wives here --"

"I believe he was." The Queen had sat back in her chair, looking as if she expected to be entertained now that she'd finished eating. She glanced over at Myrtle, who nodded slowly, dropping her hands into her lap and twisting her napkin under the table.

If none of the others was going to back down, she certainly wasn't, either. She caught Lionel's eye. "I think you know exactly what His Majesty was suggesting, love."

The King smiled at her. "You've been very generous to let me take up so much of his time, Mrs. L-- Myrtle. I would enjoy returning your hospitality."

They were all looking at her now, as if her permission was required. She took a deep breath and looked from the King to Lionel, nodding.

"Why don't you kiss him, Bertie," the Queen said.

"As you wish, my dear."

The King rose, and Lionel did too. They met at the corner of the table, put their arms around each other, and -- kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed.

Myrtle's heart pounded. She glanced at the Queen and saw the same wide eyes and parted lips that she knew she had herself; she wondered if the other woman felt the same wetness, too.

Finally the kiss ended, with the King giving a lingering caress to Lionel's cheek as he backed away a few inches.

"Most impressive," murmured the Queen. "Although..."

"Although?" the King asked.

"It didn't quite answer the question at hand, did it?"

"A certain amount of preparation is necessary to enable an accurate comparison," said the King loftily. "Don't you agree, Lionel?"

Lionel's eyes were dilated and his breathing shallow. "You know it's ample preparation when you kiss me like that," he said hoarsely. Myrtle knew the look on his face very well. If they had been alone, she knew, Lionel would be urging her into the bedroom or pushing up her dress right against the table.

The King chuckled. "Your enthusiasm is always very inspiring, but if we're to be judged, I want to be certain that my assets are displayed at their best."

He looked over at his wife, his smile fading for a moment, as if uncertain of his permission to continue. Myrtle gazed at the Queen as well. Her Majesty was just as flushed as Lionel, and breathing just as quickly. "Go on," she murmured, her fingers toying with the strand of pearls she wore.

Lionel shot a quick glance at Myrtle, then grinned naughtily, knowing full well what it meant when she wriggled in her chair, unable to hold still. "Allow me," he said, reaching up to loosen the King's tie, then to unbutton his waistcoat. The King shifted restlessly under his hands, spreading his feet a bit, pressing against Lionel's thigh. Lionel turned the naughty grin on him. "Feeling better prepared?"

"Not nearly enough," the King whispered, grabbing Lionel's hip and tugging him close. They kissed again, tugging at each other's clothing, ties and then waistcoats falling to the floor. Without a word, the Queen reached across the table to catch her husband's hand, then neatly twisted and removed a cufflink.

The King glanced down, then grasped Lionel's wrist and held it out to her. After a moment of utter stillness, the Queen removed his cufflink as well. Somehow Myrtle found this even more erotic than watching the King kiss her husband. She whimpered, shifting in her chair so that she was sitting on her own foot. The pressure helped. A little.

Lionel held out his other arm to the Queen, who removed the second cufflink without comment, and afterward raised her eyes to Lionel's face. Myrtle couldn't see his expression since he was turned away from her, but she could guess at it -- that sweet yet cheeky smile, the one that had caught _her_ like an angler with a fish, all those years ago. Slowly the Queen smiled back. Myrtle wriggled with satisfaction to see it, and felt a jolt of pleasure course through her.

Then Lionel removed the King's other cufflink, and the two men proceeded to begin unbuttoning each other's shirts. Lionel was faster and the King's shirt gaped open first. Myrtle bit her lip. Of course he was a man like any other, with sparse hair on his chest and a stomach sagging slightly with middle age, but it thrilled her to see the King this way.

The Queen appeared more interested in Lionel, tilting her head for a better view. Myrtle was proud that her husband was no more flabby than the King, for all that he was fifteen years the elder.

After he undid the final button of Lionel's shirt, the King brushed his fingertips up Lionel's chest, pausing when he reached the nipples and stroking his thumbs over them, again and again. Lionel's breath quickened. The Queen's did too, and the King turned his head to smile at her.

"They don't feel quite like yours, but... would you like to judge for yourself?"

Myrtle held her breath, waiting for Her Majesty's response. "If you wish," the Queen said to her husband, as though she were agreeing for no other reason than the fact that he had asked.

The King held out a hand to help her out of her chair, then stepped back to let her approach Lionel. He saw Myrtle watching him and reached across the table. "Won't you join us?"

Lionel and the Queen turned to her as well. Her husband was grinning in delight, and the Queen's tilted head seemed to offer a bit of a dare. Taking the King's hand as she took a breath, Myrtle replied, "Yes, Your Majesty."

The King chuckled softly, pulling her to her feet. "I think perhaps we should all use names. That is --" He turned to his wife. "-- if you don't mind, love."

With a merry laugh, the Queen extended her hand to Myrtle. "It's Elizabeth... never Liz," she said, a bit of a warning underlying the warmth.

Myrtle had to release the King's hand to take the Queen's. Her fingers were warm and very soft. "I've never heard any proper nickname for Myrtle, but you are welcome to call me whatever you like," she said, inclining her head a bit. She glanced up at the King shyly. "Is George your proper name now? Does anybody ever call you Albert?"

"My mother, when she's unhappy about something. I'm sure your husband will insist that you should call me Bertie." The King winked at her, then glanced over at Lionel, his expression melting from flirtatious to adoring. The Queen's hands were resting on Lionel's shoulders as if she'd forgotten that she'd put them there. "Go ahead, love. I'm sure that Lionel would enjoy it... and you can do a proper comparison, since you know mine well."

Rather tentatively, it seemed to Myrtle, the Queen brushed her fingers over Lionel's chest, through the graying curls, settling on his nipples.

"He reacts a bit more quickly than you do," she said over her shoulder to the King, flicking a fingernail against one rosy peak.

Lionel inhaled sharply. He liked it when Myrtle was rough there; quite evidently he liked it from anyone. Myrtle had a sudden sharp image of the King biting at Lionel's chest.

"Myrtle?" the King invited. "Would you like to see if you agree with Elizabeth's assessment?"

He wanted her to touch him? The King? She could hardly refuse. She was used to the way Lionel's nipples tightened almost immediately; the King's remained soft until she rubbed circles with the pads of her thumbs. "Her Maj- Elizabeth is right," Myrtle said. Then she reached for Lionel's hand, and pulled it to the King's chest, saying with unaccustomed boldness, "I'd rather see you touch him, Lionel. Not that I'm not honored, of course!" She added the last anxiously. She _did_ feel honored, but also awkward. Bertie might have been Lionel's friend, but she still thought of him as the King, more than as a man.

If Lionel had ever shared the same reservations, they were, apparently, a thing of the past. He touched the King eagerly, stepping past Elizabeth to kiss him again. Both men were quite a bit taller than their wives, so that when they pressed together, their lower bodies lined up effortlessly. Myrtle could see the bulges in both their trousers when at last they broke apart, flushed and smiling at one another.

The Queen's cheeks were nearly as rosy as her husband's. "Shall we --" She paused to clear her throat. "Shall we have our comparison, then?"

The King's hand dropped to his waistband, then stopped. "It hardly seems fair for us both to be entirely naked when you're fully dressed."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She looked over at Myrtle. "Did that sound to you like a challenge?"

"Indeed it did." Myrtle could tell from the way Lionel had sucked in his cheeks that he was trying not to burst out laughing. "Don't tell me the two of you have suddenly become shy."

"No, but I share Bertie's sense of fairness." Lionel grinned irrepressibly. "Don't tell me _you've_ suddenly become shy. You used to dive off the dock in the moonlight wearing nothing but your hairpins."

"Lionel!" She glanced in horror from the Queen to the King, but they both looked impressed rather than shocked. "I'm quite a bit older now than I was then."

"So are we all."

Myrtle thought it was a little unfair, nevertheless. A man going shirtless didn't have quite the same connotations as a woman with bare breasts, and she was considerably older than the Queen and unquestionably sagging more in those areas. On the other hand, it did seem that the men were going to take off their trousers, so...

She twisted up her arms behind her to undo the button at the neck of her dress. The zipper was easy enough, once she lifted the tab to get it going, but Lionel helped anyway. For a moment it was as if they were alone in their bedroom, like so many nights together when he could hardly wait to see her naked, despite all their years together. But he was her husband. It was different to undress before the King and the Queen.

Underneath she was glad to be wearing a brassiere and girdle -- the same as the Queen, she noticed. When she and Lionel had first been married, corsets had still been in fashion, but she had given them up a few years back. The new underthings were really much more comfortable, if not always easier to remove.

"I hate these things, don't you?" the King remarked to Lionel, indicating the Queen's brassiere. "Unhooking them is so difficult."

"You'd not hate them so much if you had to wear them, or rather, if you'd ever had to wear a corset instead," said the Queen in a tart voice. She smiled at Myrtle. "Don't you agree?"

"Very much so." Myrtle took a deep breath and unhooked hers. She draped the garment over the back of the chair where Lionel had put her dress and straightened, trying not to be too self-conscious.

She needn't have worried. Both men were looking at the Queen, who straightened as her husband pulled her brassiere away. Elizabeth looked like a Greek statue, proud and elegant, with her hair still perfectly coiffed despite her state of partial undress. She wondered whether the Queen had nursed her own children or whether she had had a wet nurse. Probably the latter, which would explain why her breasts still looked so firm.

The Queen glanced from Lionel to Myrtle, who realized abruptly that she was staring. Blushing, she dropped her gaze.

"You don't find them as interesting as my husband's?" asked the Queen, tilting her head imperiously.

"Of course I do," Myrtle replied, daring to look again.

"Go on, then, touch them, if you like." Both Lionel and the King moaned a bit, causing their wives to turn toward them. The Queen's expression turned positively wicked. "Surely you wouldn't object to Mrs. Logue touching me the way you touch him?" she demanded of her husband.

"Absolutely not," the King replied fervently. Lionel was nodding as well, his eyes wide.

Myrtle shivered softly, stepping forward as if her feet had already decided what she wanted to do. "I really must insist that you stop calling me Mrs. Logue." The Queen nodded, and Myrtle reached out, touching first the strand of pearls dropping from the Queen's throat, then the Queen's collarbone, before she dared to let her hand move lower, cupping the Queen's breast.

The Queen inhaled sharply, though she wasn't looking at Myrtle; she was looking at the King. Myrtle glanced over at him as well and saw that he was pushing himself against Lionel's thigh, his eyes a bit wild.

Lionel caught her eye and smiled. "You're both very lovely," he said hoarsely.

She smiled back at him and at the King too, then on impulse turned to the Queen and kissed her cheek.

When she lifted her face away, the Queen raised her eyebrows. "Just on the cheek, when you're touching me like that?"

"You're not touching me," said Myrtle. "I didn't know..."

She was interrupted by the Queen's small hands sliding onto her shoulders, pulling her close so that their lips met. Not their lips alone, either; the feel of the Queen's breasts against hers made Myrtle's knickers even wetter than they had been before. She glanced at their husbands, who were embraced yet staring at them, their hips swaying.

"I think they're enjoying this," the Queen whispered in Myrtle's ear. "Shall we see if we can make them even more excited, before we get to that comparison?"

Myrtle nodded. "Give them each the chance to show at their best," she whispered back. "What do you want to do?"

Elizabeth's finger slid between Myrtle's thigh and the garter holding Myrtle's stocking in place. "If we expect them to strip off, I suppose we should do the same," she said, loudly enough for both men to hear. Her finger traveled up under the garter and beneath the tight hem of the girdle, making Myrtle shiver.

"A very good suggestion," the King said. When Myrtle looked at him, he nodded encouragement.

"I think he wants me to take these off you," she said to the Queen, daring to run a finger over the curling upper edge of her stocking. The silk felt very fine against Myrtle's fingertip, much nicer than anything she owned. "Is that all right?"

"Yes," the Queen said in a rather breathless voice. Her fingers squeezed further beneath Myrtle's girdle. Myrtle realized that all the others would soon know exactly how aroused she had become. Her knickers were drenched, and the underside of her girdle -- and her upper thighs -- were just as wet.

Taking a deep breath, she began to unhook Her Majesty's stockings from the garters, catching Lionel's eye. He smiled warmly, less interested in the Queen, it seemed, than in the King's response to what they were doing. "Not feeling overdressed, love?" she asked him pointedly.

"Perhaps a bit." Lionel stepped out of his shoes, kicking them aside. "This might not be the most comfortable room in the house for this, you know."

"I agree," said the King. "I should enjoy seeing your room."

Myrtle wasn't sure if that "your" meant "Lionel's" or "Lionel-and-Myrtle's", but she supposed it didn't really make a difference. The men were right, in any case. She and Lionel had made love in all sorts of odd places and positions, but the dining table was less comfortable than a bed... not to mention the possibility of dishes crashing to the floor. Those would be difficult to replace, these days.

"All right," she said. With a smile for the Queen, she added, slipping a finger under one of the remaining still-hooked garters, "Shall I finish with these, first?"

"Perhaps it would be better to leave our stockings on until we're in your room," said the Queen. "Less to carry."

For all her blood and breeding, she was a sensible, practical woman. Myrtle was liking her more and more. She gathered up both of their discarded dresses and brassieres; the men could carry their own clothes or leave them, as they chose.

Lionel led the way, fingers laced through the King's as if they always walked that way. The Queen peered around as they walked, her expression more curious than judgmental, but the King rarely took his eyes off Lionel except to avoid tripping.

Their bedroom was the largest room in the house, but still, Myrtle was certain, quite small by the standards of royalty. And the bed would never hold all of them comfortably.

The King released Lionel's hand to walk around the bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, whose furnishings had appeared to be of little interest to him, the dresser and all the small objects on the tables seemed to fascinate him -- the lamps, the books, the little ticking clock. The Queen watched him with amusement, as did Lionel, who moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

The King turned to look at Lionel, who held out a hand. "Come here, Bertie." He did so, sitting beside Lionel, shooting a quick glance in his wife's direction. Then he looked at Lionel again and flung himself upon him, knocking Lionel back onto the mattress, kissing him hungrily.

"Oh, my," the Queen breathed quietly. The men didn't even pause. "I think they've forgotten all about us."

"Perhaps we should give them a moment." It was one thing to know that one's husband was the lover of another man, quite another to watch the two of them lying on a bed together, wrapped up in each other. Myrtle hadn't known whether she would be envious or excited; she supposed she might be a bit of the first, since such intensity tended to fade after many years of marriage and several children, but she was also trembling with arousal.

Elizabeth was flushed all the way down her throat. "I think we should watch them," she said in a somewhat louder voice. That, apparently, was enough to get the King's attention, though he turned his head only a fraction. As if they had planned it, he and Lionel shifted together to the left, leaving an obvious if narrow space on the bed.

"Why don't you join us," the King said.

Lionel smiled agreement, and nodded at Myrtle, who guessed what he meant. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows back at him before saying to the Queen, "Shall I finish what I started?"

"All right." Elizabeth raised her right foot and placed it on the mattress so that Myrtle could finish undoing those garters. With care she rolled down the silk stocking, not wanting to risk snagging the delicate fabric, and laid it aside on the bureau before taking off the other. Their husbands were still closely embraced, rocking together very slightly, but they watched nonetheless as Elizabeth began to unfasten Myrtle's garters and girdle.

If the Queen had shown any reluctance, Myrtle might have felt embarrassed as her underthings came off and revealed how wet she was for the other three to see, but Elizabeth stroked the damp cotton of Myrtle's knickers without hesitation. Myrtle quivered, a whimper forcing its way from her throat, and pulled the Queen close to unhook her girdle, finding that the other woman showed nearly as much evidence of arousal.

Together, naked, they sank down onto the bed beside the men.

"Now you," the Queen told her husband and Lionel. "You two were supposed to show off for _us_ , after all."

The King wriggled a bit, pushing himself up with one hand until he was kneeling with a knee on either side of Lionel's legs. He reached to unfasten Lionel's trousers, taking his time about it, smiling as he looked down at Lionel with the same eagerness he'd shown when offered dessert. Myrtle wondered whether she still looked at Lionel so hungrily after so many years.

She glanced over at Elizabeth, whose expression was more curious than stimulated just at the moment as she watched the King hook his fingers in the waistband of Lionel's trousers and pants, pushing them down until Lionel could bend a knee slightly and kick them off the edge of the bed. He was quite hard, his prick twitching as the King brushed his fingers over it while Lionel hooked a toe in his sock to shove it off, then did the same with the other.

"Let me," said Lionel, raising his hands to open the King's trousers and tug them partway down his thighs. Lionel's attention was entirely focused on the King, his gaze warm and appreciative. "You'll have to help me take these off, Bertie."

"Happily," agreed the King, shuffling backward on his knees and standing for a moment to strip off everything down to his socks. His erection rose from a thick nest of hair, much darker than Lionel's, who was turning grey all over.

From Myrtle's angle and distance, it appeared as if their pricks were nearly the same size. Apparently Elizabeth agreed, for she murmured, "I can't tell which of you is bigger from here. You'll have to be closer together."

Lionel stepped towards the King until their pricks nearly brushed each other. He turned a little sideways so that their wives could see.

"Bend your knees a little, darling," said Elizabeth. "You're taller than Doctor L -- than Lionel."

Obediently the King did so, and Elizabeth moved closer. "What do you think?" she tossed over her shoulder to Myrtle, who also drew near to judge. Really, the King was very impressive, and she didn't understand why he'd underestimated himself.

"I think perhaps Lionel, but not by much," she said.

Elizabeth spread out her fingers and put her hand against the King's prick. "May I?" she then asked Lionel, who nodded but turned a bit pink when Elizabeth touched him. "Yes, I think you're right, Myrtle."

The King had also grown flushed. "You see, Lionel? And you thought I was flattering you. Compliments can be true, you know."

He touched Lionel's face, a gesture of such tenderness that Myrtle wondered if Elizabeth felt the same pinpricks of jealousy that she did. Far better, more forgivable, that her husband should love his King than another woman, but it was still not always easy to accept, even though another part of her found it undeniably exciting.

Elizabeth had sat back quickly, rubbing her palm against the bed as if she needed to erase the impression of Lionel's prick against her hand. Myrtle wasn't sure whether to be offended or amused. Belatedly, she wondered whether the Queen had ever seen another naked man in such a condition, let alone touched one. Lionel had never cared that Myrtle remain a virgin till their wedding night, but the expectations for royal brides were undoubtedly very different.

At least Lionel was too distracted to be insulted. He kissed the King again, pulling him onto the mattress. Myrtle shuffled backward to give them room and bumped into Elizabeth, who was watching them with equal curiosity. "I've asked him, but he'll never tell me what they do when they're alone," Elizabeth whispered in her ear.

"Lionel won't tell me, either. He seems to think it would be high treason. It looks as though we'll find out now, though." The two of them laughed softly together. Lionel's eyes half-opened and he smiled, but his attention was almost completely occupied by the King, whose mouth was wandering lower. Hearing Elizabeth shiver softly, Myrtle turned back to her. "Are you cold?"

"No." The Queen shook her head.

"But you're shaking," Myrtle realized. Elizabeth had goosebumps covering her breasts and her nipples were erect. She let out a soft moan when Myrtle ran her hand over her arms, which pebbled with goosebumps too. "Is this all too much? Or not enough?"

Elizabeth didn't answer at first, watching her husband, who was so engrossed in Lionel for the moment that the women might as well have been in a different room. Myrtle felt a pang of sympathy for the Queen, wondering whether she had ever allowed herself to be so shameless even in her marriage bed. Then Elizabeth's chin rose, and her expression became determined. "Bertie," she said in the tone of a command. "Turn around so that Lionel can put his mouth on you at the same time."

The King lifted his head with a bemused expression -- almost as if he had forgotten the women were there -- but he did as Elizabeth asked, swinging his leg across Lionel's body. Lionel turned his head toward Myrtle, who nodded. It had taken him some time to persuade her to begin with, but now she rather enjoyed sucking Lionel's prick and having him lick her as well, and she was curious to see what he did to the King. Perhaps she might even learn something.

"Have you ever done that?" she whispered in Elizabeth's ear as Lionel ran his tongue across the tip of Bertie's prick before opening his mouth to take in most of its length. Then she kissed Elizabeth's neck and let her fingers trail along the side of Elizabeth's breast, caressing its fullness.

"Never," said Elizabeth, with a muffled whimper. "Oh -- look --"

Myrtle looked. Both men had their eyes closed, mouths and hands caressing each other's pricks slowly, without urgency. She had never seen anything like it, not even in naughty postcards. There was no question as to whether this was just sex between them; the emotion was almost palpable. Lionel opened his eyes for an instant, gazing at her, and the skin around them crinkled in a smile.

Myrtle swallowed and smiled back, and kissed Elizabeth again. She felt the Queen shiver once more as her mouth moved. The pulse in Elizabeth's neck beat quickly against the pressure of her lips. "Is this all right?" Myrtle asked her.

Nodding, Elizabeth finally glanced away from the two men, looking at Myrtle. "Have you ever done _this_?" she whispered.

"Do you mean, with a woman?" The Queen nodded, and Myrtle couldn't help laughing softly. "No. I've scarcely imagined such things."

She did not think it necessary to ask Elizabeth the same question -- surely the daughter of an earl had never indulged herself with another woman -- but Elizabeth blushed and dropped her gaze. "I've imagined them," she said in clipped tones.

Myrtle glanced up at their husbands, whose movements were rocking the bed. The King was thrusting slowly into and out of Lionel's mouth, tightening his buttocks with each push. Lionel had his head tilted to take in as much of the King's prick as possible -- more than Myrtle thought she could have managed herself -- and his hips were bucking slightly as the King, who wore an expression of utter contentment, stroked and licked Lionel's prick.

She wondered whether Lionel had ever imagined doing this with another man before he met the King. They had never discussed such a thing. She knew that Lionel had met men who loved other men -- he'd treated soldiers who were as scarred from watching beloved comrades fall as from their own terror and pain -- but though Lionel had empathized with their suffering, she had never thought he might share their inclinations.

The Queen was looking at her, unsmiling. Perhaps she thought she had shocked Myrtle. Awkwardly, because the name still felt improper in her mouth, Myrtle whispered, "Elizabeth... would you allow me?"

Elizabeth let out a shaky breath. "Please," she said, lying back on the bed. Her thighs were parted so that Myrtle could just see the pink of her lips through the dark hair. Moisture glistened, tempting Myrtle to taste it.

She kissed Elizabeth's breasts again first, suckling, drawing her tongue around their fullness and tracing down to the dip of Elizabeth's navel. The queen gasped -- _ticklish_ , Myrtle thought -- and her hand stroked Myrtle's hair. Myrtle adjusted her position and nudged Elizabeth's legs to open more widely. She took a deep breath and blew over the wetness, making Elizabeth squirm and moan.

"Lionel," she heard the King murmur. "Look."

Myrtle couldn't be bothered to see if the men were watching her. Her tongue was tracing along Elizabeth's folds, tasting the sweet-tangy-musky juices, so different from Lionel's taste, even different from her own when she tasted herself in Lionel's mouth. She closed her lips around Elizabeth's firm nub and sucked gently, eliciting another whimper.

Her own thighs were pressed together and without having to think she squeezed them rhythmically in time with the movements of her tongue on the Queen. She have could come just like that, but after a few moments she felt a hand moving up the back of her thigh. She knew without looking that those were Lionel's fingers. She wondered whether the King might be a bit jealous now, and smiled against Elizabeth's skin.

"More," the Queen half-whimpered, half-commanded, bending one of her knees up. Still smiling, Myrtle stroked a finger through the wet slit and slid it carefully in, very slowly, in case Elizabeth planned to object. "Oh, yes," Elizabeth murmured, pushing down onto Myrtle's finger, tilting her hips so that the tight knot at the top of the entrance pressed against Myrtle's lips.

The mattress heaved, its weight tilting precariously to one side, then righting. Myrtle knew the men were disentangling themselves, changing position. She felt Lionel's hands urge her thighs apart, though she could still hear kissing -- was that Lionel and the King? Glancing up, she could see that, rather, the King was bent over, kissing his wife, looking just as pleased as he had a few minutes ago when he had been kissing Myrtle's husband.

Lionel had planted his knees between her feet and was rubbing his prick against her backside, rocking Myrtle forward, pressing her fingers and mouth against the Queen. She raised her hips. If he wanted to make love to her while Their Majesties watched, she certainly wasn't going to object.

"Are you all right, Bertie?" Lionel asked in a throaty voice. Myrtle felt Elizabeth shift to look up at the King, and raised her own eyes, trying to keep her mouth where it was on Elizabeth.

What she saw made her moan. The King had sat up, so that his face and chest were beyond Myrtle's vision, but she could see that his hand was on his own prick and he was stroking himself, watching Lionel slowly press Myrtle open while Myrtle licked Elizabeth.

"Very much so," the King said, his voice equally husky. He reached one hand toward Elizabeth, who held it tightly. "Do go on."

Lionel pressed against Myrtle. It took him several tries to penetrate her -- Myrtle suspected that watching the King was distracting him from aiming properly -- but at last he was inside. She moaned against Elizabeth, who quivered.

It was easier to thrust her fingers into Elizabeth with the same timing that Lionel used on her, Myrtle found. She could lick the tight nub more quickly, circling it with her tongue, coaxing Elizabeth up along the path that Myrtle knew well. Surely the King had done this? Elizabeth did not seem to have the reluctance Myrtle had had the first few times Lionel had licked her there, concern that he might find her taste unpleasant or even repellent.

If she rolled her eyes up, she could catch glimpses of Elizabeth's breasts, the skin flushed and damp, and beyond them the King still stroking his prick. Behind her Lionel was thrusting vigorously; she knew from delightful experience that he could last a long time like this, and let the ripples of pleasure start to mount even as she tried to make Elizabeth feel the same blissful sensations.

"Oh -- oh!" Elizabeth's passage clenched around Myrtle's fingers in a rhythmic spasm. At the same moment, Myrtle felt Lionel's fingers slide over her hip, reaching between her legs as he bent over her back. She shuddered against the Queen, who arched off the mattress, convulsing. Myrtle kept her tongue moving steadily until she felt Elizabeth sink away from her mouth, flattening against the bed. She let her wet fingers slide free, planting her hand on the mattress, using it to brace herself as Lionel thrust.

The King had groaned when Elizabeth had cried out, but as Myrtle lifted her head, she could see that he had bent over to kiss his wife's forehead, his hand still on his own prick. Lionel's fingers pressed down just above where he was moving in and out of her as Myrtle watched the Queen open her eyes and smile a bit uncertainly at the King. He smiled back, looking perfectly delighted, as if it had been himself and not Myrtle whose efforts had left Elizabeth so flushed and breathless.

With this sight before her, and Lionel touching her in just the way he knew she liked after so many years of sharing a bed, Myrtle knew she wouldn't outlast either of the men. Shuddering softly, she pushed back against Lionel, deliberately tightening her muscles to squeeze him inside her. He responded by thrusting harder, moving two fingers relentlessly over her most sensitive spot, until she shouted much more loudly than Elizabeth had done, and for several moments she was aware of nothing but the waves of pleasure cresting outward from between her legs through her body.

Lionel chuckled softly, still moving inside her, not yet urgently. When they were young, he would not have been able to hold back after so much stimulation, but as they had aged his stamina had become quite remarkable. With a last thrust, he slid out of her, giving her hip a squeeze. She could feel him straighten to look at the King as he said, "I want that in my mouth."

"What about you?" the King asked, though he shuffled toward Lionel as Elizabeth shifted a bit to the side to make room.

Myrtle couldn't imagine that the King would want to put his mouth on Lionel so soon after he had been inside her. "Let me," she said.

The King gave her a considering look, but nodded.

It took a moment to rearrange themselves. Lionel propped himself up on one elbow, his torso turned sideways, so that Myrtle could comfortably put her mouth on his prick yet Lionel could reach the King's. The Queen squirmed to place herself where she could see Lionel work on her husband, her feet brushing against Myrtle's leg in a friendly way.

Lionel tasted a little different than usual. Myrtle licked along his length, trying to identify the cause, and concluded that it was because the King had been sucking him earlier; even after being inside her there was still a hint of the King, especially near Lionel's bollocks. She smiled to herself and delicately tongued the slit; the bitterness there was familiar.

Glancing up, she could just see Lionel's lips closing around the head of the King's prick. A shudder, the echo of orgasm, went through her as she watched, her own ministrations to Lionel continuing automatically. Inch by inch Lionel drew the King deeper into his mouth, until his face was brushing the hair at the base. Myrtle was impressed; it had taken her some time to learn to relax her throat sufficiently to do that with Lionel. Evidence, if she had needed any, that her suppositions about what Lionel and the King did with each other were correct, at least in part.

Something brushed Myrtle's hair; she thought at first it must have been Lionel's hand, then realized that it was the Queen's as Elizabeth shifted to stroke her husband's thigh. Myrtle shivered, and the hand returned to her own head, brushing her hair back. She knew that although Lionel was distracted, Elizabeth was watching what she did with her mouth, and made a show of moving the foreskin around with her lips.

The King groaned low in his throat, the rocking of his hips shaking the bed. Though Myrtle couldn't see his face, she observed that his fingers had knotted in Lionel's hair, encouraging Lionel as he sucked. Again a tremor went through her own lower body and she whimpered softly around Lionel's prick.

Elizabeth's fingers traveled down the side of her face, distended from having Lionel in her mouth, and across her neck. Once more Myrtle shivered, and felt Elizabeth press closer. "Could you do it again?" the Queen whispered.

Under nearly any other circumstances, Myrtle would have said no, it was too soon, but this was like nothing she had ever imagined before. When she glanced up, she could see her husband bobbing his head in the lap of the King of England, his eyes closed blissfully, while the King moaned encouragement, and when she reached back with her free hand, she could feel Elizabeth's hip pressing against her own backside.

Myrtle parted her legs a bit, sliding one foot against Elizabeth's, and felt Elizabeth's hand move down her side, brushing her breast, stroking over her belly. She trembled and twisted a bit, encouraging Elizabeth to continue, sucking Lionel deeper into her mouth. Elizabeth's fingers slipped into the still-wet hair, parting the folds of skin, coming to rest on the sensitive knot between them. Myrtle whimpered and nearly bit Lionel.

Soft and cool though Elizabeth's hands were, they ignited waves of heat in Myrtle's body. She opened her thighs a little further. Elizabeth took the hint. Still rubbing circles with one hand, she thrust what felt like three fingers into Myrtle, who rocked to meet her.

Lionel was nearing his climax; his breath was coming quickly, audible around the King's prick, and his own prick throbbed against Myrtle's lips. She released him altogether and blew a stream of air onto the wet skin, aware that Elizabeth watched too. Lionel groaned and thrust blindly toward Myrtle's face. She lapped at the head of his prick, working the foreskin again, then closed her mouth around him and sucked hard.

Bitterness filled her throat as Lionel came in two strong pulses. At the same moment Elizabeth twisted her fingers inside Myrtle, her other thumb stroking fast. Myrtle let Lionel's prick slip from her mouth. The sound that forced itself from her throat was almost a sob, releasing her into a second prolonged orgasm, this time against Elizabeth's hand.

When she could breathe again, swallowing -- she hadn't been fast enough, she had Lionel's seed streaking the side of her face where it had spilled out of her mouth as she cried out -- Myrtle turned her head, first to look at Elizabeth, whose expression was almost smug, then to glance up at the King. His eyes were half-open, looking down at her, and she knew that he had watched everything his wife had been doing.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" the Queen asked, sounding as satisfied as her expression suggested.

"Yes -- fuck -- " Myrtle and Elizabeth both giggled to hear him say the word, though Lionel hummed with what sounded like approval, muffled by the King's prick, over which he was bobbing his head with renewed fervor. Elizabeth and Myrtle both scooted toward the foot of the bed to give them more room, and because it was easier to see the men from that position as the King sprawled back, taking Lionel with him by wrapping one hand around the back of his head.

Myrtle enjoyed watching them. She could sometimes see the head of the King's prick outlined against Lionel's cheek, and guessed from that and from the expressions on the King's face just what Lionel might be doing with lips and tongue at each moment. Elizabeth seemed to find it equally enthralling, squeezing Myrtle's hand each time the King made a noise of pleasure.

The encounter couldn't last forever. A patchy flush across the King's chest signaled his rising excitement, and he began to croon words of encouragement to Lionel, rather to Myrtle's surprise -- and Elizabeth's too, she suspected.

Lionel responded with a flurry of caresses from both hands and mouth, letting the King plunge ever-deeper into his throat until Myrtle really feared he might choke, but he did not. With a cry the King went rigid, his hands gripping the coverlet of the bed into tight wrinkles. Lionel's throat worked as he swallowed. Slowly, tenderly, he allowed the King's prick to re-emerge from between his lips.

"So good," the King murmured as his hips flattened on the bed. His hand stroked Lionel's face, and when he opened his eyes, he looked only at Lionel, smiling, for several long moments before he glanced up at the women, his expression growing uncertain.

"Lionel may have the advantage in length, but it seems you have the advantage in stamina," the Queen said. That brought a grin back to the King's face, and Lionel chuckled as well.

"I might have lasted longer, but I have the impression that Myrtle has more energy." The King was beaming at her, and once more Myrtle felt her cheeks flush. "Lionel, between the two of us, we haven't been wearing you out, have we, love?"

The word slipped out so easily that Myrtle knew it could not have been the first time the King had said it to Lionel. "Only in the very best of ways," replied Lionel, resting his cheek on the King's thigh. Myrtle tried to glance at the Queen to see whether any of this bothered her, but she couldn't see Elizabeth's face without turning around. At least Elizabeth felt relaxed against her, fingers still linked loosely through Myrtle's.

It was a shame that the mattress was too small to hold all four of them comfortably. With a small sigh, Myrtle shifted a bit toward the foot of the bed. She needed to wash her face, and the dishes would be much harder to clean in the morning if they weren't soaked.

"Shall we let Their Majesties rest for a moment while we clean up, Lionel?" she asked.

Behind her, she felt Elizabeth straighten. "No -- let me help. They look too satisfied to move."

It was true -- the King looked absolutely blissful, sprawled on his back with his fingers loosely threaded through Lionel's hair, while Lionel had his eyes half-closed and hadn't moved from between the King's thighs. "Only if you're sure you don't mind," Myrtle said to Elizabeth, who was already getting to her feet.

Lionel crawled up the bed as both women stood, and the King reached out, pulling him into his arms. "You don't mind, either?" Lionel asked Myrtle, slipping a hand over the King's hip.

She laughed softly. It wouldn't be the first time that Lionel had collapsed after vigorous lovemaking, leaving her to clean up the kitchen. "I'm sure we can manage." Myrtle doubted that Elizabeth would, in fact, be of much help washing the plates, but she would be glad of the company.

As it happened, Myrtle was wrong. Once Elizabeth had pulled on Myrtle's dressing gown -- Myrtle had offered her own to the Queen, shrugging into Lionel's bigger, shabbier one -- and given her sleepy, sated husband a kiss, which he returned with a happy hum, Elizabeth followed Myrtle to the dining room and began to clear away the dessert plates, unasked. "It has been a most enlightening evening," she murmured.

"It has," Myrtle agreed. She couldn't think of anything else to say, not after what had just happened. To talk about the weather or the war or even their families would have devalued the experience.

She filled the sink with soapy water and put the china and silver to soak as Elizabeth brought the last dishes into the kitchen. Still in silence, she covered the leftover food, some going into the icebox and the rest into the larder. Elizabeth watched, playing with the sash of the dressing gown.

"Thank you," she said when Myrtle had finished. "You don't mind what they've been doing, do you?"

"No, not really. If I were Lionel I'd be enormously flattered." Myrtle looked from under her lashes at Elizabeth. "What about you?"

Elizabeth raised one shoulder and let it drop. "A bit. I'd be far more bothered if it were another woman. And tonight, well --" She gave Myrtle a smile. "Tonight had some benefits for us, didn't it?"

"Oh, yes." Myrtle did not have to feign the enthusiasm of her response. "I'd never imagined that I would ever do that, but I enjoyed it very much."

Untying and retying the sash, Elizabeth shifted a bit. Myrtle wondered whether she was uncomfortable standing around without her knickers, with her thighs likely as damp as Myrtle's still were. "I'd never imagined that I would have the opportunity," said Elizabeth. "But I had wondered whether you might be interested, since from what Bertie had told me, you hadn't objected to your husband sharing his bed."

Leaning an elbow on the edge of the sink, Myrtle considered how to answer this. "Your husband isn't just a man," she pointed out. "He's a king. Our King."

"Is that why you wanted to do this?" Elizabeth asked, her voice sharper than before. "Because I am the Queen of England?"

With a small laugh, Myrtle shook her head. "I can't pretend that I could overlook that fact," she admitted. "But you're also yourself. Very beautiful, and you've been very generous to us."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise. "You've spent most of the evening cooking and cleaning for us," she objected. "You and Lionel have both been quite generous to _us_."

"Is that why _you_ wanted to do this?" asked Myrtle, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Elizabeth confessed, and Myrtle saw that she had turned pink.

Creaking from the staircase cut off their conversation as their husbands entered the kitchen. "No more crumble?" asked Lionel, looking around forlornly.

"I don't think you need any more," said Myrtle, patting his stomach with a smile.

"After all that exercise, surely a small helping couldn't hurt," the King argued. "If there is any left, that is."

There was, but not much. Still smiling, Myrtle rolled her eyes and went to retrieve it from the larder again. "Elizabeth, would you reach down two plates for me?" she asked over her shoulder on the way.

"Where are they?"

"They're in the cupboard. I'll get them," Lionel said.

Myrtle divided the rest of the crumble and gave one plate to the King, the other to Lionel, and found two clean forks. "Would you like anything else?" she asked Elizabeth.

"I wouldn't say no to a glass of water, thank you."

"Not more wine? Or tea, perhaps?"

"Tea would be lovely," the King said. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with Lionel, leaning against the wall, smiling as though he would be happy to extend the evening indefinitely. Myrtle wondered whether Lionel had had to haul him out of bed and order him to put his trousers on, as he sometimes did with their boys in the morning. She was very glad she'd sent all three sons to stay with friends for the night.

While she set the water to boil and took out teacups, the others took turns wandering out to retrieve their clothing. The men had come down half-dressed, though their shirts and waistcoats were still draped over the chairs around the table. "I can't find my cufflinks," she heard Lionel say.

"Perhaps Bertie took them as a souvenir," the Queen told him. "I'll have a pair of his sent over in the morning." Myrtle had to bite back a giggle.

Lionel came in while she was pouring water into the teapot. "Let me get that," he said, then lowered his voice. "Would you mind helping Elizabeth dress? I suspect she's used to having maids do up her things --" He made a fumbling gesture, demonstrating the same befuddlement with imaginary clasps as he'd often shown with real ones. "I don't think her husband will be much use. He can't even tie his own Windsor knot."

"Sweetheart, I think he just likes having you do it for him." She rested a hand on Lionel's cheek before stepping past him to help the Queen.

Elizabeth didn't really _need_ Myrtle's assistance -- a girdle was a far cry from a corset, after all -- but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. Hesitantly, Myrtle offered to lend the Queen a pair of clean knickers, although she worried they would be too large. Elizabeth accepted, however, and Myrtle thought that she would wash the others and send them back via Lionel next week.

"There," said Myrtle at last, standing back. "No one could know that your dress was ever off."

She took less care over herself, since it was growing late and no one would see her but Lionel, but Elizabeth watched as Myrtle put on fresh clothes and combed her hair, and kissed her when she was finished.

"I suppose we had best go," said the Queen. "Bertie always has so much to do these days."

"I know." Myrtle nodded. She almost felt sorry for him -- sorry for the King! -- who had such a great weight of responsibility on his shoulders. "Do you suppose he's finished dressing down there?"

"We shall find out." Elizabeth led the way back downstairs.

The men were dressed, though Lionel had rolled up his sleeves and hadn't bothered with his tie. Not that it was easy to see the latter, because they were kissing again, with Lionel's hands resting against the King's chest as though he'd just finished tying the knot in the King's tie and hadn't quite let go of it. The Queen cleared her throat, but it still took them a minute to step apart.

"Shall I see you tomorrow?" the King asked Lionel.

"On Sunday?" The King reddened slightly, as if he had forgotten what day it was. "I'll see you next week, as usual, Bertie."

They stepped apart, and the King smiled at his wife, stepping over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Then he smiled at Myrtle and astonished her by doing the same. "Thank you for a very lovely evening."

"Your very welcome, Y-- " Myrtle managed not to say _Your Majesty_ , yet she found that in spite of everything, she was incapable of uttering the King's name with the ease that Lionel said it. "You are welcome any time."

Elizabeth gazed at her for a long moment, then glanced up at her husband. "I believe it's our turn," she said. "We should have them to the Palace for dinner, don't you agree, sweetheart?"

The King grinned widely, kissing his wife again, then glancing from her to Myrtle to Lionel. "Yes," he agreed with a rather naughty chuckle. "We shall have them for dinner... and dessert."


End file.
